Lucent Seas
by high.fiving.jesus
Summary: Maybe her heart was extraordinary. Whatever it was, the Fates had drawn Poseidon to her. A moth to the flame. No doubt, it was already laid out in the timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**~Lucent Seas~**

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Typed: October 10, 2010**

_A/N: Just wanted to say, this is a very lucky day._

She heaved the duffel bag through the door and breathed in the wafting salt in the air. Her eyes fluttered closed as the bag slipped off of her shoulder and down onto the floor of the cabin. The sand in the bed sheets, the spiders in the cabinets; she loved everything about Montauk. It was only her third time visiting and she had managed to get this same cabin only twice, and when she did, it was like holding a Nobel Prize. The view out over the lake and the moss covered trees stretching up to the skies blissfully; giddiness rose in her.

She loved watching other visitors slip canoes into the water, laughing earnestly as friends slipped in or the boat escaped their grasp. People speckled the shore on good days, and on bad days, she had sat out on the porch and watched clouds passing overhead.

All the stress over her uncle was drained as the waves retreated from the sands. Thoughts of college dimmed in her mind; and getting that diploma—no problem. Money was no issue for a girl by the sea.

She dragged the bag over to a corner of the room and left it limp in its own pile of empty space. She glanced around the room and nearly danced with excitement. She was back at home. She threw herself down on the bed and pulled a pillow under her head. A cool ocean breeze bustled through the open windows and nestled itself around her, digging into the comforter. She welcomed it and turned over on her back, sighing through her nose like she had never felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She sat up and glanced around the room. Now what? She had gotten here, safe from the faces…

Sally Jackson had been able to see the hideous appearances. She could tell when something was just not right with a person, though she never made it known. Once, she had pointed it out to her mother when she was a young girl, talking loud enough for the stranger to hear. He was a man made of storm clouds and shadows, with sparking yellow eyes. His Roman name—a ventus.

That weekend, her parents took a plane to visit her uncle's lawyer and make a pit-stop at a specialist's office, and never made it back.

Sally picked herself up off the bed and rummaged around in her duffel. Her few items—a set of car keys, two changes of clothes, a swimsuit, and some toiletries—looked measly, but she treated her property with care. She grabbed the only pair of cut-off shorts that stopped at her knees and switched out the jeans she was wearing. She adjusted her long sleeve shirt, wondering if it was too hot to wear that. She shrugged, pulled up her sleeves, and made her way to the beach.

A gentle drizzle dragged itself away from the puffed-up, proud white clouds and claimed the ocean as home. Sally watched the ripples in the water and eased her body down onto the sand. It was warm and soft sand that slipped between her toes and devoured her hands when she leaned back on them. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes and patted down her long brown hair.

On the other side of the lake, lush green trees bundled together to form a large forest. A few people were hanging out around the shoreline, some fishing, some kids playing in the tears of heaven. Sally relaxed back down onto the sand, enjoying the sun and the rain. Sun showers were so peaceful…

She peeked and eye open as the heat and water stopped bathing her face. A figure loomed over her with a small smile on its face.

"Excuse me," he told her. "It seems I've dropped my pen." He pardoned himself and pointed to the ball point pen lying at her side.

She blushed madly and sat up, picking it up for him and holding it out. "Sorry about that," she managed, catching his appearance. He had a strong, but kind, build with a short trimmed black beard, matching his hair. Gorgeous and captivating sea green eyes appeared under godly lashes.

"Well," he sighed, straightening and staring out over the water. There was an odd look of longing as he watched the shoreline disappear under the foamy mouth of the waters.

Come to think of it, she thought. It's like rabies…

"I suppose I should be going. Just passing through," he confided, looking down at her again. He smiled and stuck the pen into his Bermuda shorts pocket. He walked down the beach towards the end of cabins, like he were about to leave the 'back way', and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He kicked up some sand, like he was frustrated with something.

A sea green light shimmered around him as he walked closer to the water and Sally widened her eyes. _Not him too_. He couldn't be one of those… things. She watched after him, and as he looked at the water, she caught a godly face. Strong, unruly black hair, same beard, but lustrous intense green eyes. He was clad in Greek battle armor and leather sandals, like he were prepared for war. He turned his gaze at the sky, watching intently. A bald eagle of magnificent size swooped by, screeching as it passed the man.

He nodded and started wading into the water, armor and all, when the radiant eyes caught onto Sally's again. Her almost disappointed face confused him. She analyzed him calmly and gave a quick smile, waving and laying back in the sand. She stared up at the drizzling sky and breathed out, exhausted with all the surprises.

Why her? Why was she able to see the faces, when the others couldn't? It wasn't fair.

He waded a little further, trying to dismiss the internal conflict that shouldn't be real. He had managed for the past sixty years, focusing as he should on what was at stake and his duties. And her countenance—the frustration in her eyes—a mirage? Why would a mortal care so suddenly for a lowly fisherman?

Maybe her heart was extraordinary.

Maybe her eyes were clear…

He shook away the thought as he plunged under the surface, inhaling his home turf in abundance. He walked along the bottom of the lake waters further into the murk that didn't exist to the mortals. He sensed the waters shift from fresh to salt and watched his palace spread out before him. A minor threat was destroyed by Delphin's army. He lifted up from the ocean bottom and grew a scaly tail, his chest plate only remaining on his bare body. He surged forward, summoning his trident as he went.

The marble palace walls glimmered ahead of him.

Sally woke with a start as water lapped around her, slapping her sides gently. She sat up for the umpteenth time, annoyed now, and glanced at the rising waters. They were gentle enough but some divine force was seething down below, she could sense it. Frustration gurgled deep in the waters murk, past the fish and the forms of life.

She moved to crouch in the water and crawled deeper into the water, soaking the ends of her pants. A school of fresh water minnows dodged around under the lake's skin. She heaved out a breath and stood up wiping off her hands. She glanced out towards the forest –side of the lake, noticing the emptiness. Everyone had abandoned the area, leaving all of their items where they had been. Stereos resting awkwardly on the sand, blankets sprawled out, a bucket rolling on its side.

She glanced at the sky nervously and pursed her lips, deciding to head inside the cabin. Dark, looming storm clouds started shoving away the whites with a fiery rage, and glared at her. They taunted her as the sun was swallowed behind a curtain of gray. She turned her back on them and forged up the beach, her cabin holding open welcoming arms. She pulled down her sleeves with a smile on her face. So it was raining. What difference did it make?

She moved onto the porch with a certain bounce to her step. Lightning struck across the sky and the clouds opened instantly to release its downcast. Thunder rolled all around her as she went inside.

He rode on the waves with a certain elegance that could be taken as a lighthearted man with a woman on his mind. The description was an exceptional one. Accurate, also.

He appeared in his throne room, Amphitrite waiting patiently. She floated off of her seat and smiled at him respectfully, bowing. He gave her a weak twitch at the corner of his mouth and swam around her, towards the doorway on the back wall. She turned, bewildered by his antics, and began to follow.

"I am to discuss a chance at war," he told her, not turning or motioning that she really there. "I will be but a few minutes. You and Triton may have lunch without me."

She started to decline, but he disappeared, a heavy stone forming behind him.

He waited in the dark corridor, twiddling his thumbs around each other. A scraping sound, stone-on-stone, echoed through the sinister hall. Poseidon inhaled deeply and almost smiled, the council would hear his request.

A faint speck glowed with a bright white light. It shifted positioning, like a jewel floating on the nothingness of the depth. The glow became heated and it grew, burning a flaming red like a dozen rubies before a candle. The corridor suddenly bursted with a thousand beautiful colors that didn't seem like they'd blend, but they molded and melted, lighting the passageway.

A hunched over figure rested in front of the source of illumination. He looked almost human, except the diaphanous skin as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. His eyes were purely white, no splash of color or dabble of excitement to them. His eyes trailed over Poseidon.

_Speak, Earth shaker, Storm bringer,_ an ancient voice rasped in his mind. He bowed his head deferentially.

"I have come to ask council," Poseidon told the monster, his voice strong and pure.

The eyes wandered around the room with free will until they landed back on the god before them. _I know what you seek, but a name is what I ask._

Poseidon frowned. "I don't—"

_Find it. Bring it to me. Do not return without knowledge._

The light shut off, darkness clothing the sea god again. He bit his lip and dispersed into sea mist. His essence soared through the water at godly speeds, the tides shifting from salty to fresh in a millisecond. He materialized at the bottom of the lake and traveled across the bottom, breaking the surface onto the shore.

Rain pounded on his armor, but he ignored it as his eyes scanned all the cabins dotting the shore. Every single one appeared to be barren. All but one. A young woman, around twenty, with long brown hair tied up in a ponytail was dancing through her cabin, entertaining herself. Poseidon caught himself smiling and nearly scolded the way he was acting.

He didn't even know her name.

She twirled on her feet, the song her mother had sung—loud and off-key—to her was drumming through her mind. She moved slowly, a graceful smile appearing. And the thoughts of her mother brought tears. Maybe if she had just kept her mouth shut… if her imagination wasn't so wild.

She turned around, adjusting her ponytail and came face to face with the man from the beach. He stood outside her window, smiling nearly fondly and she blushed, embarrassed. He was dressed in the simple shorts and button-up shirt, which reminded her of a tourist off in Florida somewhere. He had a fishing hat on his head, which she later realized he had always had.

He disappeared from the window's view and Sally felt her heart drop a little, completely on its own. Her conscious state, of course, didn't care whether he was there or not, because she had just barely met this man. She realized, with a start, that she didn't even know his name. She felt so terrible about herself, forgetting her manners outside.

A gentle knock came at the door and she whipped her head around, almost dazed and confused. He hadn't just stalked her and left? What a gentlemen.

She hurried to open the door and invite him inside as thunder shook the cabin. He thanked her graciously and took off his hat, wringing it out in his rough hands. He looked around the room and his eyes were instantly pulled to the leak in her ceiling.

Sally followed his gaze. "I should probably get that fixed," she mused, laughing a little. "Ah well, I won't make anyone come out here in that weather." She told him, excusing herself as she wandered into the kitchen to find a cooking pot. She gingerly placed it under the drip and watched the water spot forming.

He watched her patiently, surprised and amused at her comment. No matter the time of day, rain or shine, the mortals had always wanted things right and fast.

"And there went my manners, again," Sally provided, coming over to him. "Do you want anything? Tea? Water? Here, why don't you take a seat? I'll be back in a moment." She scurried back into the kitchen, scavenging through the fridge for something good. Year-old expired milk. Two percent.

She pursed her lips and shut the fridge, quickly looking through every cabinet for a glass to put some water in, which she'd have to get from the tap. Poseidon took pity on her and materialized a few cups in the last cabinet. Sally pulled it open and her shoulders relaxed as she pulled out a glass. She walked over to the other side of the refrigerator and was pleasantly surprised at a gallon of bottled water on the counter top. She poured a tall glass and hurried to give it to Poseidon.

He took it and smiled at her, "I apologize. I… don't know your name."

She was earnestly startled that someone had even bothered to ask her name. It didn't happen often that someone cared enough. "Sally."

He nodded. "And I suppose a last name comes with that?"

She laughed, embarrassed, and her cheeks colored. "Of course. Jackson. Sally Jackson. And you are?"

He hesitated. His name was quite odd in the mortal world and rarely used. But the odds of her taking it as something special were slim. "Poseidon."

Sally smiled, and mimicked him, "And I suppose a last name comes with that?"

"No, just Poseidon," he told her, knowing she would be left speechless. Which she was. And in any case, Poseidon seemed to just enjoy her company. The talking was an addition to this jewel. She brushed away a stray strand of hair from her face and kept a smile on her face. "Sally. That really is a beautiful name. Fitting."

"Thank you," she managed, completely blushing. She gazed at the flooring apprehensively and tried to disguise her embarrassment.

"Tell me, Sally," he reiterated, loving the taste of her name on his tongue. "What brings you to Montauk?"

Sally looked up, bewildered. Where to begin?

_A/N: It's rushed at the end the most, so I apologize. And the quality wasn't too great, but I'm striving for improvement._


	2. Chapter 2

**~Lucent Seas~**

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Typed: October 10, 2010**

_A/N: I wonder where this story's going._

Sally searched Poseidon's eyes, nearly gaping at them openly, watching the ever shifting sights of a green, lucent sea. She searched for trust, possibly. She barely knew this man and she was about to unload a lifetime on his shoulders. But he had asked for the knowledge.

"It started when I was little," she told him, sighing to herself. Reliving the nightmare that was her life, she explained the sights, the faces. Yet, whenever she visited Montauk and sat by the shore, it all went away. The freaky visions, the nightmarish dreams. Everything about her was calm, cool, collected. Everything was right. She discussed her parent's death and the occurrence directly before; she talked about the death of her uncle. She told him of her dreams of writing a novel. She unloaded everything, anything that came to mind. And when she had finished, she was taken aback by the fact that there he sat, listening, watching her.

The only words that came to mind wouldn't make much sense to Sally, and so Poseidon sat, trying to conjure up the things she wanted to hear. An issue: he wasn't good at comforting; he wasn't good with tears. The room started to shrink around him, and he hated small spaces. He _loathed_ them.

Poseidon remembered the day her parents were taken from her. He had sat on his thrown, arguing with Zeus, as usual, trying to keep his temper mild. He felt the churning of the ocean, the tidal waves, riptides, storms brewing in the sky. Then he felt the thunder; it shook Olympus, just as it had shook Sally Jackson's world to pieces. The thunderclap had taken down a mortal plane, granting mercy to none. He wished he could've been calm about the ordeal.

He felt his gut twisting; he couldn't recall what the argument was about.

There was an urge for him to make it up to her somehow; it was his fault on part. But taking the blame was easy; healing the pain was tough work. Especially for gods. They didn't relate perfectly to human emotions, including Poseidon, though at a lesser rate. He sat, contemplating the choice his mind had made in a split-second decision.

He started to say the words 'I apologize', but they held less meaning, and less sentiment. The correct wording formed for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Sally looked up at him, a bewildered smile crossing her face. The worse of her life had passed long ago. "Why? You didn't do anything." She laughed and shook her head.

Poseidon looked over at the dining room table and, with a deep, shaky breath, brought her over to it. He had never felt so nervous in his life; nothing made him nervous. He had been in similar positions at least a million times in the literal sense, yet this Sally woman scared him; she made him giddy and nervous like a young school girl.

She sat across from him silently, not understanding, and looked at his face as his forehead scrunched together. Laugh lines showed on occasion and Sally understood that he was a kind fellow, in love with laughter, and lustful towards joy. He was a person she enjoyed.

"Sally, I would like to tell you something," he said. "In confidence."

"Okay," she told him, almost anxious to hear what he had to say. "Shoot."

He studied her face for a moment. She deserved to know; she had to know. The only thing that worried him was her reaction; it could ruin her. He took a leap of faith.

"I am Poseidon," he breathed.

Sally pursed her lips and nodded. "Yeah, I know. I _am_ Sally."

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands across his face. That had come out wrong, and made him sound extremely stupid. "No, I mean… I am the Greek god of the sea. I live in Atlantis; my palace has an amazing recreational center," he explained. "My brothers and I fight. Constantly. I rule on Mount Olympus, 600th floor of the Empire State Building—"

"Wait," she interjected. "Did you say 600th floor? Seriously? Are you… okay?" She pointed at her head for a moment and dropped her hands, leaning towards him. He sat still as she examined him. The faces—was this the meaning behind them? It couldn't be real…

"So, is this a onetime deal?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, if you are a Greek god—"

"Which I am."

"—then don't you have a wife? I get to just hang out for the day and then you go back into the sea and never return?" The question struck him as odd. Did she honestly believe him just like that? It was too easy. And mortal women never asked about his wife. He did love his wife; only, sometimes he wished he could turn her into a dolphin or just be rid of her. He loved her but he wasn't in love with her.

"I suppose," he replied, suddenly emerged in thoughts of his past. Was he really that bad?

"Then maybe you should go now," Sally said, and he couldn't help but notice the sadness attached to her voice. The way she appeared disappointed; was he to be her saving grace from her life? He stood to leave and walked towards the cabin door.

Sally hadn't honestly believed him; she wasn't gullible. But this man appeared insane. How could she just allow him to stay with her for another second? He needed help, and she would supply what she could, but he could not simply live around her. What if he went out for revenge?

As Poseidon stepped outside, his clothes shifted and twisted into the Greek armor from before, down on the beach. The hat was gone and replaced with unruly black hair. He waved to her, not honestly looking at her, afraid she'd throw holy water on him—it didn't taste too great. As he walked down towards the thrashing shoreline, the waters calmed and appeared to paw at his strong legs with longing. In his hand appeared his trident and, as Sally watched from the porch, he touched its tip to the sand. A small drop of water slid down the forked tongue of the weapon and touched the sand, resting on top like a small bead or marble. Poseidon submerged himself underwater and disappeared, leaving Sally to her thoughts.

She wandered down the beach, eyes disbelieving what they say. She bent over the droplet to examine it when it burst to life. She backed away, arms flailing, as a shower of water droplets erupted from the small bead, as if it were fireworks. More drops formed on the sand as the other had previously done. When the display had ended, the shore was littered with the dew drops, much to Sally's amazement and curiosity. Then, they began to shimmer and shake.

As if a magnet were placed between them, the drops rushed at each other and folded into each other, molding and lumping, lying on top of the other until an animal's outline was forming. It was a horse. A beautiful white stallion, growing, and stretching. Water melted off of its coat and buried into the sand. The horse whinnied at her and took off across the surface of the water, each step sending water out behind the stallion.

And Sally simply watched in amazement, thinking. It was the truth?

_Yeah… that was no good. Oh well…_


	3. Chapter 3

**~Lucent Seas~**

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Typed: December 31, 2010**

_A/N: Wow, it's been a while. I'm __so__ sorry._

Poseidon found himself, once again, twiddling his thumbs in that lowly hall of the council. He was agitated, on edge some might say. About what? Well, of course. He planned on courting—pardon—_dating_ this Sally Jackson, but was even still wise enough to discuss any chance that was seen at a war breaking out. He did not wish any harm upon the mere mortal girl, and so if avoiding her became his only chance, very well; he shall see it done.

The council drifted before him, anchoring itself to the one spot at the end of that long corridor. The diaphanous skinned monster's eyes were spiraling in his head freely, upon their own accord, but the council continued to stare critically upon the sea god.

_Children?_

"Not that I know of," Poseidon replied smoothly, folding his hands in front of him. A woman having had no children was usually—_usually_—a generally good thing and all together gave possibility between the sea god and her. That meant there was less chance in the woman having a husband, and judging from the way she acted, the way she spoke, the way her eyes were saddened, she was flying completely solo.

The council was not, however, pleased with his response. His knowledge was becoming limited and soon the council would shut down all chances of prediction, less the man knew what he needed to. _Montauk, you said._

Poseidon gave a curt nod.

A low droning sound chorused around the immortal and the council's eyes closed. He drummed his fingers through the water, lowly moaning and humming. The sound grew in audibility, drumming and pulsing through the room, causing Poseidon to flinch back. Tension and pressure in the room began to build and, anticlimactically, a small spark popped behind the council, just as a firework dud.

His ivory eyes slowly peeled open, now a light baby blue.

In past years, Poseidon had consulted the council numerous times, tempted continuously by multiple women with a liking to the sea life. He had wished a chance to at least date the girls but the council's eyes had always opened a blood red and a 'no' was moaned out, the light extinguishing and the council disappearing. Now, seeing the baby blue eyes, Poseidon was thoroughly overjoyed.

Without a second thought, he squirmed a 'thank you', bowed unceremoniously, and fled the room, quickly returning to the shore with all of his will to not cause any terrible problems in the ocean. A few tidal waves would be passed off as normal at the time of year. He was quickly the lowly fisherman that Sally Jackson had come to know.

In his flurry to see the girl, the images shown afterward had slipped his mind completely. The council had not disappeared as it had normally done when shutting down an opportunity that Poseidon had found. Instead, its baby blue eyes began to project images, ones that Poseidon should have seen.

A young boy, only twelve years of age, forging his way past a tall Pine, a horn in one hand, a satyr in the other; his striking resemblance of his father became quite obvious in a strike of lightning. He quickly dropped to the ground and slipped away upon the old centaur towering over him.

The same boy was shown, enduring adventures that, had Poseidon seen them early on, would have given him a heart attack. He was burned, pushed around, mocked and scorned, nearly crushed under the sky, tortured. He was put through Hades—literally and not—and had managed to endure it all and still save the whole of Olympus. And Poseidon had missed his chance to understand the council's decision. Yes, a war would start, but yet he would become a hero and it had already been prophesized.

Yes, Poseidon had missed a chance to decide whether he would sire the hero, to allow his own son to endure so much just for his lustful ways.

Sally Jackson had remained, nearly the entirety of the day, sitting in spot, staring—sorry, _gaping_ at the water, waiting to see something else more magnificent than what had occurred before her. A horse—a beautiful _stallion_, had just become real in a matter of seconds all from one water droplet. Right before her very eyes.

Did she believe it?

Did she have a choice?

Yes, she had sat on the beach, a light drizzle beginning to fall, and stared at one solitary spot. Hours wasted to just sit and stare at what could've been and what she had just learned. The faces—they didn't belong to her world. Why, then, could she see them so clearly? Why was she the one to be haunted by the horrors of the monsters living in _his _world?

Sally finally pulled herself out of her stupor upon the sea beginning to swirl and churn violently. She scrambled to her feet, still staring upon the spot and then—like a geyser—the water popped and stirred. Her eyes flickered between the two, cautiously, backing away towards her cabin. Maybe she had gone insane.

Sally stumbled over herself as the water began to part, at the shoreline at first, and then further back to form a mock-image of the entrance to a subway tunnel, leading straight to the bottom of the ocean. She of course had the perfect idea that this Poseidon fellow was back, for whatever reason, and he was using his powers far more than he had been. Sally's eyes roamed around the beach, only to find it vacant as an old and haunted house.

When she looked back, there he stood, directly before her, in his full Greek armor, brandishing his triton as casually as a woman would a purse. His hair was unruly and tossed around his head and his eyes twinkled with amusement. He looked to be in his early twenties, surprising her greatly. She had just seen him in maybe his early thirties. His eyes scanned the area just as she had, only in a more knowing manner, as if he himself had cleared the beach.

"It appears we're alone," he mused, his eyes close to laughing.

Sally found it near impossible to breathe. She had hardly thought it possible that he be even more attractive, but taking years off was a pretty fantastic way. Her lack of breathing however was caused by the sad and simple fact: Sally had never been… alone with a man before, aside from her father when her mother was at work. But a man not of relation was… unheard of. Especially one so handsome and kind and _powerful_.

Poseidon, however, made no move toward her. He just stood there, brows raised, and his mouth quirked into a slight smirk. She had a strange feeling she would grow accustomed to the casual, teasing, and laid-back demeanor in the years to come. Still, she was thoroughly convinced that she would not be seeing Poseidon for a quite a while afterward.

She seemed to notice that he was looking at her expectantly and she realized that he had said something. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" he repeated, motioning towards the long strip of beach that lay ahead of them. It was most likely at that moment that Sally realized that he had not come here for any godly purposes as she had heard in the myths and legends; he just wished to get to know her and such. It was hard to process that a god wanted to be her friend—or more.

Poseidon even found it hard to process why he was behaving like such a gentlemen. Perhaps it was the way she appeared innocent, though he doubted it. It was near impossible for him to control his thoughts, but he restrained them perfectly well. He found himself more interested in her then what she had to offer.

"Your wife—Amphitrite, right?" Sally started, her feet carrying her along the beach slowly, like they had nowhere to be, nothing better to do.

Poseidon stared at the ground and closed his fist around his triton, the weapon immediately dispersing in a cloud of silver and blowing away in the wind. He walked as casually as anyone could in armor. Him staring at the ground reminded her of a young boy caught in the act of doing what he shouldn't have been, and she felt terrible about it. However, she found herself not wanting him to return to her.

"Yes," he nodded.

"She knows you're here?"

"She knows I'm on shore," he confessed. Sally's expression remained impassive, but she felt like the traitor in the situation, more than Poseidon himself probably did. She was the one borrowing another's husband, even if for a short while.

"And she's okay with it?"

He shrugged awkwardly, his armor pressing on his skin. He cursed it and waved his hand dismissively, the armors straps coming undone and falling away to reveal him wearing the same Bermuda shorts, but a white button-up, rather than his Hawaiian shirt. "Tell me, Sally," he requested, looking up at her. "Why are you so interested in her?"

"I'm just making sure you remember that you have a wife," she said just as dismissively as he had been with his armor.

His eyes began to twinkle mischievously. "Sally Jackson, are you implying something?"

Her eyes were on him with the simple turn of her head, cheeks fading to pink. She looked flabbergasted and taken back by his sudden teasing. She was soon realizing that he was a playful god, not a well-behaved and quiet man that just loved to laugh. He, himself, was mischievous.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, looking ahead of him. "That was completely inappropriate."

"No," she shook her head, also turning to face the stretch of sand. "No, it was fine. I can take a joke."

"I'm working on thinking before I speak," he told her, impartial to the teasing nature in his voice. He had been completely honest in what he had said; he just wished to lighten the mood in doing so.

"Well, if you think about everything," she informed him, tilting her head his way with a smile, "then nothing is spontaneous."

"I'll remember that," he smiled, still trekking the sand with completely abandon.

_A/N: Yeah, now we get to the good stuff where you find that Sally and Poseidon kept things that they had learned between themselves._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: To all my dear, sweet, lovingly faithful reviewers,**

**This story, effective immediately, unless decided otherwise, will be placed on HIATUS. I realize that this is against the rules, but I felt I owed you all an explanation and I hope you don't report, for this chapter will be deleted upon the continuation.**

**You may ask why I am suddenly holding off. If you would like to know, I'm writing what will probably escalade into a trilogy, but for now is a story that is like venting and revenge. **

**I know—wow, high fiving Jesus, that's really immature. When you read this story, it may help you understand, it may not.**

**My muse: my lying, but sweet, boyfriend. Humph, lying and sweet don't belong in the same sentence… Let's try this. My boyfriend's really sweet to me. However, he's a compulsive liar about what I consider to be important. Did I mention he broke a promise?**

**I bet you don't care, I wouldn't. But it's a heads up for a story that is consuming all of my thoughts. I would feel terrible writing a chapter that doesn't blend well with what's happened so far, and so I'm going to get this out of my system.**

**Thank you for your consideration and cooperation.**

**Seriously, **_**please**_** don't report because this message is only temporary.**

**My story: **_**Exposure**_**.**

**Rating: T**

**Characters: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase**

**World: Books, AU (Alternate Universe)**

**Thanks again!**


	5. Chapter 5

**~Lucent Seas~**

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Typed: March 8, 2011-March 19, 2011**

_A/N: Holy pineapples, it's been a while. Aren't I terrible? I meant to update but I have Spring Break and that's means traveling. _

Implications were a rather difficult topic to discuss. Had she been implying when she mentioned the remembrance of his wife? Well, _of course_. She wasn't lost on the subject of demigods and their origins, how they came to exist. She had come across the study with a temporary acquaintance that she had found in her early college days, and she had studied. She had studied hard after the first picture of a snake-woman, two snaked trunks for her legs, because she had _seen_ that creature in the flesh, net and spear balled together in a fist, tongue tracing her lower lips teasingly. How could she ignore a chance at discovery?

So, Poseidon's question, though one of jest, had struck her as odd. Because, she was making implications that she hoped had somehow passed through the gap between them and met his pocket of memories and understanding.

It hadn't.

His hand was now intermingling with hers freely, a furious cherry tint tarnishing her cheeks, and he was absentmindedly rubbing circles over the joint of her thumb. His eyes were intent on watching every action his fingers performed, he speaking carefully about the myths being a reality, like he was sure she hadn't believed, nor understood, the first time around. The cabin, she realized, smelled like rust and dirt compared to his aura of… _life _and _joy_.

"I _did_ date that monster Medusa," he admitted with a small chuckle, the corners of his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Rather huge mistake, I must say. I can't recall what I liked about her."

"You mean before or after you two… angered Athena and she was transformed into that repulsive—" she hesitated, the soothing circles ceasing to exist and his grip on her hand loosening on the polished wood of her cabin's table. "It's not good to dis the dead…"

"Oh, Medusa's not dead," he met her eyes, his hand falling to his lap limply, as if he didn't have the energy to comfort her through what trivial shock she had engrossed herself in. "Far from it. Fine little business running on some roadside. Hermes stops by frequently."

"But I thought…"

"Monsters don't die," he told her, leaning forward onto the table and spreading his hands in explanation. "Their souls… well, they don't really have souls as you would think of them. Same as gods, we all can be dispelled, but eventually we come back when we have the energy."

"Have you been killed before?"

His grin caressed his ears gleefully and he leaned back, because admitting to a death was just too much fun; the reactions mortals gave him were awfully ridiculous, what with extensive eyes and slack jaws. "Well, I may have gone overboard with Athena experimentally. It took her a few years to plan out decently, but she dispelled me for a few weeks."

Sally studied his face wearily, incredibly aware of how vividly she was picturing her eccentric and passionate father—not necessarily the mental image for a man that she found attractive, but comforting nonetheless. "What was it like?" In the back of her mind, she was interested in his eternal adventures, but the dominant portion of her brain was figuring pretty quickly that his death would be somewhat like the ones her parents had endured because of him and his brother's childish arguments.

"Death," he mused. "is nothing short of a long nap. Maybe there was moments of pain beforehand, but she had planned a rather… excruciating sentence." He glanced at her for a moment and took her hand in his two again, running patterns of infatuation. "Ah, it was rest at last."

She would remember that, she knew, whenever she had to think of a loved one's death, whether she had someone to love or not. (She often carried these words through the worst of her life as her son attempted to follow boldly in the footsteps of idiots.)

"Come," he stood and carried her hand with him, backing from the table and grinning. That increasingly familiar glint of madness appeared in his eye as he lulled her towards the door to the cabin, which she found odd. They had only just returned from their walk no more than twenty minutes ago. Surely he couldn't be that restless. But he was, she soon discovered.

"Where are we going?"

He pushed aside the door and, while she had been expecting the marvelous white sand that had made base on her doorstep, she found herself in the presence of a movie theater, rather old-fashioned but pristine and glistening. Couples with lustrous hair, slicked with gel and mousse, were lounging on shimmering seats from old diners. A man stood behind a polished red counter with a hat mirroring an overturned sailboat, a red-and-white uniform shirt, and thick glasses that touched over his cheekbones. "My favorite," he explained. "Silent films."

"Are you sure this is the right time period?"

He seemed to hesitate and study his surroundings before shrugging off his thoughts. "If it's not, I can fix that." She would come to know those words well over the next few weeks.

And they sat in a line of glossy seats with a waxy outer coat of plastic, a small red-and-white paper bag of popcorn nestled between them, both people's hands digging savagely through the buttery treat and fighting for the kernel with the darkest shade of gold to it. Her fingers were constantly brushing his, and despite her constant repeating of _accidental_ in her mind, she knew it was a lie. She loved the feel of his calloused hands meeting her smooth ones without an intention or distinct purpose to it.

The screen cackled and buzzed in a blur of grey and black and white, the theater utterly silent beneath the noise of the projector. Sally couldn't help but think it odd that she was beside a god eating popcorn and watching a movie. Why should he spare her a moment's glance? She wasn't near as beautiful or funny as the girls that had also occupied the beach that day, and yet he had decided to drop his pen beside _her_ and block out _her_ sun and only smile in _her_ direction.

Her mother would be proud.

Poseidon, she noticed, was fidgeting. She had expected him to sit calmly, considering it was his suggestion and power that had brought them to their current positions, but it seemed next to impossible. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he smiled at her and readjusted himself. He went as far as crossing his legs before deciding that he looked rather odd in the stance and took to slouching in his seat and fingering his lower lip. It was several silent moments that passed by, a man in a round cap brandishing an umbrella and hobbling out his front door, before he spoke. "I feel like I'm on my first date again." He fingered his hairline.

And the blush crept on her face because if she were honest she could only subconsciously admit to herself that this was a date, while the louder area of brain mass was screaming at her to get a grip because that just couldn't happen to her. She was Sally Jackson, most pathetic excuse for an all-around American girl in history, with a slow and sad story that left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. No gods could be dating her, right?

_Wow, his eyes…_

She glanced back at the screen.

"Sally, I'm sorry." She wondered if gods had ADHD. "I just…" And in the next moment they were sitting back at the dining room table, his hands fingering one of her own gingerly, as if afraid he would forget himself and test his strength on the daintiness that was her.

"No, it's okay," she stared at their only connection. "I'm not big on movies as much as books."

He was staring at her unabashedly, studying every feature on her gentle face and thinking. He thought of times to come and long nights of utter silence and beautiful evenings that could only involve them together, talking about everything under the sun, the moon and her stars. He was thinking of simply Sally.

"You've not eaten."

"What?"

"I'll make you dinner. What would you like?"

_A/N: Ah, I didn't delete the last author's note to unsure you, the readers, would get an alert that I continued. Thinking of a summary edit. Any suggestions?_

_By the way, have any of you read Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater?_


	6. Chapter 6

**~Lucent Seas~**

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Typed: May 10, 2011-May 11, 2011**

_A/N: I'm terrible at this whole idea of updating. I'm working towards bettering myself, if you'd be so kind as to pardon me. Thanks._

Sally didn't quite let her mind process her current kitchen scenario. When she imagined its appearance—if ever—in the crevices of her mind's eye she'd see the same run-down stove top with burns caked on the black top, the buzzing white refrigerator with select magnets that blurred together, a microwave on the counter with little printed-on papers that had been taped over the worn-out buttons, a leaky sink. Not a hunk of beautiful standing over an expensive-looking piece of machinery with something fascinating simmering on the burner, a towel tossed over his even shoulder and a smile on his face.

The smoke detector gave away that he wasn't professional in this area, but the twinkle in his eyes made her realize that this idea of _mortal_ fascinated him enough to take a chance and submerge in whatever human instincts he had.

"You don't do this often, do you?"

He glanced up at her with the same elevation to his lips, reached out for a jar of spices that slid from their position into his palm, like it aimed to please his hardships.

"Okay," he started, staring at the smoked treat in the pan and uncapping the jug. "I'll admit, this is new. I mean," fleeting smile, "it's not like I have to do this sort of thing every day. I just summon up some nectar, ambrosia, batta-bing, batta-boom. Instant food." He held his palm out to her in attempts of demonstrating, a crumbling square of fudge taking place of the empty. He crushed it in his fist, the food dissolving on the sea breeze and wiped off the remnants on his towel. "But I know a thing or two about gourmet food in the mortal world."

"And how?"

"Well," he drawled and tossed the pan, sending food flipping and dropping back with a sizzling form of finality. "I was head chef of a little restaurant in Pompeii for a short while—granted I had an alias. Nice little place looking over a nasty olive tree—"

"I'm sensing some tension between you and the olive trees. What's up with that?" Sally didn't feel like she was intruding until a shadow passed over his face and he seemed to bury himself in cooking something special. She swallowed her pride—what little she had—and stuttered an apology, one that he quickly dismissed with a hastily thrown together smile.

"Just a little spat between me and Athena, as you know," he looked back at the pan unsurely and set it on the pristine, glistening black top burner. The air popped and blistered with the sounds of the mix of peppers, chicken, and spices all slapped in the frying pan and the roasted smell of nuts gathered collectively as background noise. She studied her petite white fingers quietly, chewed on her lip, unsure of what to say next. What was she supposed to say to a dead-end response like that? How was she to reply?

"Athena and olive trees…?"

She didn't understand the relation; her studies had never extended to the point of Greek mythology enough to list off all of the Olympians, or famous demigods, or the happenings of the recorded time period.

"She invented them."

Oh. Sure, why not?

Sally experimentally skirted around him, slipped between his body and the wall on his right as he continued at the stove and she studied. She studied his cheekbones first, high and mighty, proud and handsome. She fingered her own. And then the scruff of a beard's remnants lining his chin. Well, she couldn't exactly test her own beard (if only she had the time to grow one out). His hair was unruly on the top of his head, permanently wind-swept and tussled, like an annoying aunt had come up, pinched his cheek, scuffed the top of his head with a hand so heavy with rings that he got a few knots, and had never had a brush taken to it.

Well. Her hair was long.

And brown.

And then the eyes. Intense in a totally cliché and first-glance kind of way. That was what she saw, a kind, focused attitude. Definitely an attitude. But the underbelly, the lower layer was many-coated and several times surface with something different. There was the ever-present confusion, like he didn't quite _get_ what was going on around him and he just had to make everything up as he went along. Under that layer was the stubborn mule that didn't take no for an answer unless that was what he wanted. He was strong and determined to get his way. Then there was the mischief. He always had to have fun to balance out the seriousness of immortality.

She brushed away that layer, because it made her sensible side peek through the covers.

And maybe she didn't want to be sensible anymore. Or, honestly, only as long as he was around.

Then the layer that never flitted to hide behind other layers, could always be found right in the corners of his irises, where you wouldn't think to look. Care; loyalty. A never-ending supply of _good_ and good traits and that all around perfection.

She played with the lashes at the corner of her eye absentmindedly. He glanced at her with a crooked smile and her hand hesitantly dropped, along with her eyes. He had caught her.

"Nothing to be embarrassed by," he amended, steering their conversation to something more all-about-us then all-about-him, even if she felt more comfortable that way. "Tis known that I am a pretty piece of flesh."

She met his star-dusted eyes quickly, pupils widening before she smiled. "Quoting Shakespeare." She nodded with some form of approval. "Romantic and dorky at the same time."

"It is the East—"

She held up her hand and said, in all the severity she could gather, "Moment's gone."

"I think I know how to get it back."

"How?"

He stopped his stirring of the dinner meal he had planned, an old forgotten recipe favored by the Greeks, and studied her face, eyes, ears, nose. Mouth. Set with only the top row of teeth showing through her smile, the right corner tugging up a little higher than the left in a cheeky grin. He looked down, sure his face had heated in only a matter of a second. "Never mind."

She wasn't a risk taker; she didn't put herself out to be hurt or embarrassed. She liked her secluded shell where no one bothered her or pestered, and she could think things and be pleased without having to say it aloud and hurt someone's feelings. So, there would of course be delayed shock later in her life when she asked if he wanted to kiss her. It didn't really bother her much at the time. But later…

What if he had said no?

It was hesitant and slow coming. He gave the preferred tilt of his head, a small lean, but backed away and looked from the corner of his eye, unsure of the situation and seizing on every detail that went on around him. Waves were quick and careful with the shore outside of the kitchen, the food still steamed, all else was silenced. Her heart—his heart?—was running a relay race behind a rib cage. A sea breeze notched a strand of her hair just perfectly across her cheek for him to be able to brush it away.

He gently pressed his lips to hers, hoping she didn't mind his beard, and pulled that strand back behind her ear. She apparently dug the beard because her hand was up fingering the tufts along his jaw line and stroking it with her thumb. The other was probably still hanging by her side, not occupied by anything more than a tingle in her fingertips.

The smoke alarm threw a fit somewhere in the distant.


End file.
